Becoming the Groupie
by Cececat
Summary: Magenta is ordered to find Frank a new groupie before Christmas. If she succeeds she gets 10k Dollars, if she fails she dies. With the help of Riff she searches the local town for a suitable candidate. Soon enough she meets Laura - a pretty, young waitress with a son she care barely look after. Will Mags be able to transform Laura in time? (Please Read/Review!)
1. Ten Thousand Dollars?

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

 **A/N: Chapter 1 takes place about a month _after_ chapter 2. Yet it _is_ a prologue of sorts - the bulk of the story revolves around the bargain, the 10,000. Hopefully all that doesn't confuse people.  
**

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"Ten-zousand Transylvanian Dollars? Just to find you a suitable new mistress?" Magenta whispered, her green eyes wide.  
"Yes, indeed," Frank said, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "Quite generous of me, isn't it?"  
"Too generous," Riff Raff muttered darkly.  
The Master chuckled. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm only giving the two of you three weeks to complete this task. It's highly unlikely you'll succeed."  
At this, Magenta frowned slightly. Three weeks certainly didn't seem like a long time. Yet it really couldn't be that hard. There was an Earthling town nearby, presumably full of young women. Surely at least one would be willing to  
Also, both of the Vitus siblings were known for their determination. They were also considered slightly amoral at times. Nothing could stand in the way of their ambition.  
"What happens if we… fail?" Riff asked.

"Oh, I'll have you killed or something," Frank replied nonchalantly.  
"We accept," Magenta said quickly. She really wasn't one to turn down a dare.  
This horrified her brother. What was she thinking? Things were dangerous enough for them already. What kind of fool accepting such an offer? Competitive and daring as she was, Magenta wasn't actually stupid. Had something addled her mind? Had she had a drink earlier? One of Magenta's many fantastic talents was her ability to appear sober even when rather tipsy. The drinks only affected her internally. The Master still hadn't figured this out, luckily. Servants weren't supposed to drink on the job. Of course, Riff often wanted to… if only to keep calm in this mad, mad, mad world…

It was at that point that ze Master sauntered out of the room - vintage dress swaying and shoes click-clacking. His glittering purple boa trailed behind him like a large fashionable snake. Riff was almost impressed by his deranged confidence. Sure, that man was a monster. Yet one just had to respect - and perhaps envy - somebody who could pull of such flamboyant clothing.  
Of course, this didn't mean Riff Raff liked his Master. No. He envied the man in a variety of ways. Only Magenta found Riff attractive and nobody understood his sense of humor. All his life he'd been thin and he'd begun to bald in his early 20s. Not to mention the dark circles under his eyes (the result of a lifelong struggle with insomnia) and his lack of charm. Frank, on the other hand… well, he was like Jim Morrison or Iggy Pop. Practically everyone wanted to at least make-out with the guy. His charm and sexuality were impossible to resist. He had more groupies than any Transylvanian rockstar. Between that and his ability to pull of crazy clothes - who wouldn't be jealous?  
"Vhat is it?" Magenta asked.  
"Hmm?"  
"You're staring into space. Vhat is vrong?"  
Riff sighed. "Nothing… dear sister."  
"Liar," she replied, teasingly.  
"It's the Master. Why must he be so much more charming, so much more likable?"

Magenta shrugged. "Vho knows?" She paused, then added: "At least you're a better scientist than he is. Everyone knows zat. Also, have you noticed than none of ze girlfriends stick around? He is a monster. As soon as people realize zis zey leave him."  
This was true, Riff knew. It still didn't make him feel much better.  
The two siblings stared at each other for a moment, unsure what to do next.  
"Perhaps ve should start vorking on ze new project," Magenta said, eventually. "Ve only have a few weeks to do zis, after all…"  
Her brother nodded in agreement, then said: "What's the first… step?"  
"Visiting ze town and to see if ve can find a the right girl."  
"Someone unattached and desperate, perhaps?"  
"Of course. Someone vho von't be able to say no. Somevon in need."  
"That's exploitive, my dear."  
"I know." She grinned. "What fun we'll have…"

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A few hours later they'd both donned earthling clothes - jeans and a t-shirt in Riff's case, a plaid sweater dress and a brown vest in Magenta's - and piled into an old pick up truck. It had been painted a sort of grey-ish, gloomy light blue. The seats were torn in places, as if they'd been attacked by a dinosaur with giant claws. The engine made a hideously loud rumbling sound whenever it was running. Sometimes there was a strange noise that Magenta called 'coughing'. Riff absolutely hated the old truck, though it was all they had.  
"Perhaps ve can use out ten-zousand dollars to get a better car, darling," Magenta said brightly, as Riff tried to start the engine.  
The car sputtered pathetically, then came to life.  
Slowly but surely they left the castle driveway and began to make their way down the old dirt road. They passed a variety of ancient-looking, shade-inducing, sky-reaching evergreen trees as they drove on and on. Once they were out of the woods they found themselves surrounded by yellowed, crumbling corn fields. Since it was winter everything looked rather dead. Even the clouds above seemed grey and gloomy. Though it depressed Magenta, she preferred this shadiness to the bright summer sunlight. They never got any direct sunlight back home. Their moons reflected the light of a nearby star that Transylvanians couldn't see for various, complicated reasons.  
On and on they drove. Finally they found themselves surrounded by rows of boring, identical brick houses. The same-ness of it all bothered both Magenta and Riff. He called them the Clone Houses or the Factory-Built Houses. They certainly looked like they'd been produced in a factory, via assembly line.  
After a bit more driving they found themselves in the town square - surrounded by shops and some larger houses. They soon parked the car in front of the Ma Gallagher's Diner. According to the locals, Ma's milkshakes were the best in the world.  
There were a number of people wandering around on that gloomy day. Housewives went in and out of shops. Kids skipping school messed around in the fountain that stood proudly in the middle of the square. The men were all at work, it seemed.  
The two siblings stood there in silence for a while.  
Finally, Magenta said: "Why don't we start by saying hello to some of ze vaitresses in the diner, there?"

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 **A/N: Magenta's slightly uneven accent was intentional. That's how she is in the movie, after all.  
**

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	2. Laura's Story

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

 **A/N: Thank you so much for the review, Alma Oakley! This chapter is dedicated to you! The money Magenta is promised will become important later on.**

 **Laura's son Timothy is not named after Tim Curry, even though this _is_ a RHPS fanfic. He's actually named after Tiny Tim from _A Christmas Carol_. The boyfriend, Bill, is named after 'Bill Sikes' from _Oliver Twist_. I'm in quite a Dickensian mood.**

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Laura Trent hated her life. Well, sort of. It actually wasn't that bad. The problem was that it had _begun_ perfectly. For many years she'd lived in a nice house with her well-off family. Mother and Father supported everything she did, from art to acting to science. Aunt May took her shopping all the time. Grandmother had paid for expensive dance classes, which she'd loved. Everything had been perfect.  
That all changed when she was 16. It's a story we've all heard before. A good-girl goes to far with one of her boyfriends, gets knocked up, and then is exiled from the family. Her name disappears from both conversations and will & testaments.

For the first time, young Laura had to actually work. She waited tables at the diner full time - which earned her just enough to pay her rent and eat. Whenever she'd the chance she also danced (tap and light ballet) in local shows. This earned her some extra cash. Of course, after a few months, the doctor decided that all that dancing might hurt the baby. This upset Laura. Dancing was one of her greatest loves. If she'd shown more discipline, said her old teacher, she could've been a principal member of a ballet company someday.

After the baby was born (and christened Timothy Trent), Laura wanted to start dancing again. Every day she practiced a little. Given her lack of money she couldn't afford pointe shoes. Even if she could've, she wasn't in good enough shape anymore. Instead she'd rehearse old tap routines an the like. They required far less work… far less time…  
Ah, time. There was something Laura certainly didn't have! What new parent does? Even with the help of her neighbor, the old widow Mrs. Elizabeth James, she was terribly busy. Her job seemed barely worth it. Why bother, if she'll never be paid enough anyway? Still, she had a child. Giving up would presumably hurt him. Barely being able to care for Timothy was certainly better than not caring for him at all.  
Things got even worse when, about a year after giving birth, she realized her baby's skull wasn't… right. It was oddly soft. Mrs. James claimed that all babies have soft heads, so Laura carried on as usual.  
Then she noticed the way his legs were slightly bowed. She knew there was something wrong, as all mothers do when their children are sick, so she took a day off and visited the town doctor. His name was Charles Chandler. Due to his grandfather's success in the candle making business, Dr. Chandler was rather wealthy. That meant he didn't feel the need to charge very much for visits. This was the main reason Laura went to him.

"Your little boy has rickets," Dr. Chandler told her, after he'd examined Timothy.  
Laura frowned. "Is that still a thing?"  
"Yes."  
"Weird." She paused. "Will he be okay? That is, what am I supposed to do?"  
"Well, he's going to need a lot of vitamin D. That's what causes rickets. Since he seems to have trouble absorbing it from the sun, I'm going to have to prescribe supplements."  
"Can't I just buy some from the pharmacy? They've " "Over-the-counter pills won't be enough."  
"How much will these prescribed pills cost?"  
Dr. Chandler sighed. "About $20 per week, I'm afraid."  
At the diner, Laura earned $15 each day (not including tips). Already, she struggled to pay the bills. Twenty freakin' dollars sure was lot.  
Still, she let the doctor write up a prescription. What choice did she have, anyway?  
As she drove home from Dr. Chandler's office, Laura began to think. Where on earth was she going to get that extra money? If her parents even knew the baby was sick they'd probably blame her. Even if they did help pay it wouldn't be worth it. No, there'd be too much fighting.  
The only other option was Bill, the ex-boyfriend Laura had sworn to forget. They started dating soon after Laura had become the local Hester Prynne. Nobody wanted to be seen with her. She was desperate for someone to talk to, someone to spend time with. Even a leering Irish bastard in his early thirties didn't sound so bad. Especially since the bastard in question was powerful.  
Bill had lots of money - somehow - and claimed he enjoyed 'spoiling' girls. Indeed, he'd spent ridiculous amounts of money buying fancy dresses for Laura and taking her out to dinner. It was silly, though she played along. Being his 'broad' was better than being alone.  
They'd broken up the first time when he decided she'd gotten too fat. He'd forced her to give back everything he'd bought her. They both knew that she would've pawned the jewelry if she'd gotten the chance. Yet why did he care, anyway? He had all the money he needed. Anybody who was nobody in Denton, Ohio knew this.

Indeed, Bill was a truly horrible person. Of course, that didn't stop Laura from caring about him. Even after being treated like an attractive possession. Even after having all the gifts taken away. Even after seeing him treat other people even more horrible. Something stopped her from hating him. Perhaps it was the way he'd rescued her from loneliness. Yes, that was probably it…

After dropping Tim off at home, and telling Mrs. James about the diagnosis, Laura went looking for Bill.

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 **Please Review!**

 **A/N: Incidentally, my mom says I had briefly had rickets as an infant. In the late 1990s-early 2000s doctors (apparently) began to warn parents not to let their babies spend too much time in the sun for some reason. As a result some kids didn't have enough vitamin D. That's partly why Timothy has rickets, as opposed to something else. Tiny Tim's illness was never specified.**

 ** **Is it weird that Laura/Columbia has a son? In a horrible way, I always thought she was the type of person who'd have a kid at 16. At least two of my earlier stories involved her getting pregnant.****


	3. Bill Won't Pay

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Show._**

 **A/N: Bill is supposed to look like a young Paul Weller (the musician)... if Weller never bathed and grew his hair a bit longer.  
**

 **Also, Tim's illness is deliberately weird. Rickets is extremely rare in the developed world and it sounds like something out of an old novel. Originally this was going to be _A Christmas Carol_ with Magenta as Scrooge. I don't know what happened. This is a bit of a trainwreck, plot-wise. Sorry.  
**

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Bill lived in an apartment building deep in the darkest part of town. Half of the neighboring structures were (officially) vacant. This was the dead district, the sickening slums. Only the most twisted people inhabited it willingly. The more respectable citizens either don't know about it or pretend it doesn't exist… even when their sons and daughters are buying drugs in grimy alleys from people like Bill.  
Speaking of which…  
When Laura arrived on her old lover's doorstep, he was busy talking to a young man. As she stood there, shivering, Laura could hear them whispering. Quickly, she recognized the younger voice. It was the nephew of a much-hated local high school teacher, Eddie Scott. He'd always been something of a troublemaker. Still, Laura never knew he'd go this far.  
She pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully.  
"…without the money," Bill grumbled.  
"Look, dude, I can pay later!" Eddie replied, urgently.  
"People always say that. It never works out, laddie."  
"Sir…"

That's when Laura opened the door. It wasn't locked. It didn't need to be - few people were bold (or stupid) enough to barge in on Bill.  
He looked just as he always had. Thin frame, ruddy face, glaring eyes. His inky black hair was greasy and overgrown, reaching his shoulders. Though he stood at least six feet away from the door, Laura could smell him. He reeked of sweat and smoke and liquor and god knows what else. Clearly he hadn't bathed in a while. She'd forgotten about that little habit of his… yet it didn't make him any less attractive. He had an air of style to him, in an almost victorian way. That angular nose. Those half-starved cheekbones. And the thick eyebrows framing his dark, bitter eyes.  
Eddie looked exactly as he always had. Of course, Laura had never known him very well. She probably hadn't even had a full conversation with him… no. They'd been in a few classes together, that's all. Suddenly, however, she was glad to see him. He was a fragment of her old life - the one she had to leave behind.  
"What did you want?" he asked, frowning at her.  
"Money."  
"Can't you earn it on your own, you lazy bitch?"  
"Not this much." She sighed, then added: "You're rich, Bill! Surely you can afford to give me some."  
"How do you think I stay rich, girl?" Bill asked sourly.  
There was a pause. Then, Laura said: "Is that why you took your gifts back?"  
"Yes. It's not as if you had a place to wear any of that."  
"I would've to pawned the jewelry. And the dresses been very useful. After Timothy was born-" "So that's what you named the baby? I thought you were going to call it 'Clark' or 'Richie', or maybe something biblical. What kind of name is Timothy? Sounds British. You know, I fucking hate the British."  
"I know," Laura said, smiling politely. "What's new with you?"  
He calmed slightly, somehow, and replied: "Very little. Watches are selling for less these days, so I'm branching out into drug dealing and the occasional housebreaking. The latter has increased my monthly income by about 50%. Wallet snatching still brings in $4,800 per month on average."  
Only someone mad as a hatter would talk about crime in such a way. It reminded Laura of her Grandfather's dull monologues on the stock market. At least Bill was calm.  
"Why are you here, again?" he asked, grinning oddly.  
Laura sighed. "Money, dear. Remember?  
"What for?"  
` "My son… he's sick, you see. He has rickets."  
"That still exists?"  
"Yes."  
"The little brat."  
"He didn't give himself rickets."  
"You're the one who gave it to him, we all know that," Bill replied nastily.  
"Did not! His body has trouble processing getting D. That's not anyone's fault."

Bill chuckled, quietly. "I'm messing with you, Laurie. Even I know why children get sick."  
"So will you help pay for his treatment?"  
"You should ask the father for help, whoever he is."  
"I can't. Nor can I ask my parents. They wouldn't understand."

"'They wouldn't understand'. You're such a teenager."  
"Bill…"  
"Laurie…"  
Then stood there, staring at each other. She moved deeper into the room (which was theoretically the flat's 'living room'). It was dirty, dark, and unpleasant. The only furnishings were an ugly green sofa and a table piled with takeout containers. The only light source was a naked bulb that hung from the ceiling. Mud stained the floor, empty candy wrappers were tossed here and there. There even appeared be blood splattered on the wall, beside the couch. Laura shuddered. Surely that hadn't been there before.  
Why couldn't he bother paying for a cleaning service, at least? Was he really that much of a Scrooge?  
"You missed me, didn't you?" Bill asked, eventually, a nasty smirk on his face. "That's why you're here."  
"No, I'm here because I need help paying for my son's medicine and I didn't know who else to go to."

"I've already said I'm not interested. Why haven't you left?"  
"I don't know." Well, she sort of did. There was something so repulsive about this room, and its owner. Laura couldn't tear herself away from any of it... or could she?  
Unsure what else to do, Laura rushed home.

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